


Restless in Paradise

by TreeNostalgia



Category: Kings of Paradise (Visual Novel)
Genre: MC bonds a little with the boys in their way i think, MC is Pissed, and sad, but mostly she’s smad, i do not often write in first person for fic, i don’t ship tomohiro and mc, i hate his fucking guts which is why i wrote this, it is otome after all, no relationships really but there might be potential, rated for use of the fuck-word, written in first person pov bc.. it seemed appropriate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 23:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17876396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreeNostalgia/pseuds/TreeNostalgia
Summary: a rewrite of part of the Kings of Paradise prologue but with an angrier MCWhen Tsushina Fuyuki got invited to this fancy party she got way more than she expected — mostly a lot of anger, maybe some new friends?, and a newfound desire for divorce.





	Restless in Paradise

Personally invited to a party by one of these “Paradiso” men, I had made an attempt to invite my husband along, like I had agreed to with Ryoko. We were both going to bring our husbands to this party, but here I stand, sans husband. Ryoko’s is somewhere around, schmoozing with the other rich people around the room. Ryoko is pleasant company, really, but I can feel a pit in my stomach. The party is too fancy, for one, and I had hoped that Tomohiro would be standing by my side tonight. Alas, the man has work, he said, and can’t attend.

My stomach twists again at the thought. Work. Work, he says. That’s been his excuse this whole time. He uses it so often that I’ve long started to doubt him. Work on a weekend? Again? Again, again, again? I’ve hardly seen him at all this past year, not to even mention that I don’t remember the last time he so much as touched me. My own husband — of four years now — hasn’t touched me in at least a year and he hardly looks at me anymore. It feels like he’s leaving me behind.

I wouldn’t doubt it to hear he’s cheating on me, to be honest. But, god, enough of the pity-party for one, Tsushina! I’m out at a lavish party that I was personally invited to (granted it was as an apology for almost getting ran over by the limousine the man who gave me the invite was in, but still!) and I am here with my best friend! I’m here to have fun, and no “workaholic”, cold fish, asshole, no-show husband is going to ruin it for me!

I chat as happily as I can manage with Ryoko, bogged down with thoughts and doubts about Tomohiro as I am. I think she’s trying to keep me cheerful, too. She’s such a sweetheart. She knows my husband couldn’t be here with me, but she and her husband still graciously let me join them. Besides, I know Ryoko is glad I’m here. With me, she knows she can be herself. She doesn’t have to pretend, put on airs, or smile so statically, not with me. But with the other residents of the building? It’s actually pretty amazing to see her switch gears like that. She almost gains a posh accent while she’s at it.

Turns out those years of Theatre Club courses back in college were a good idea. For us both, I suspect.

Eventually, Ryoko excuses herself to go spend some time with her husband, Dr. Kurashina. I smile and nod.

“Of course, Ryoko! I’ll be fine,” I reassure her. “Go spend time with your husband.”

Ryoko grabs my hand to give it a squeeze and me a smile before departing. “I’ll be back soon,” she says, then lets go, leaving me to watch her glide over to her husband’s side.

The smile on my face feels stuck now that Ryoko’s no longer watching me. Stuck and plastic. So I take a deep breath and a glance around the room. It’s full of rich people. Residents of this very building, celebrities, actors, musicians, more doctors, and I’m pretty sure I saw some politicians earlier too. A room full of the wealthy and the influential.

And me.

A housewife with a marriage on the brink of falling apart. It feels like walking on the edge of a knife. Misstep and slice your feet or fall, but you can’t stand there forever.

I can’t stand here forever, so I drift over toward the buffet tables.

For as long as I can remember I’ve always loved food. Eating it, making it, and over the past few years I’ve developed the skill of reverse-engineering a recipe. It’s a fun challenge, especially with so much time on my hands. Of course, lately Tomohiro hasn’t been home enough to even appreciate my efforts.

When I reach the buffet tables I begin to fill up a plate with salad and roast beef and some expensive looking nibbles. But my thoughts are occupied once again with my husband.

God, what even happened? We were in love before! Or, at least, I thought so. We dated for a year, and then Tomohiro asked me to marry him. He must have loved me, then – enough to marry me, right? He used to treat me kindly and call me cute and take me out on dates. Now it takes a miracle to have a meal together at home. I’m lucky if he says goodbye before he leaves for work.

Ugh, stop! I close my eyes and shake my head minutely, hoping to loosen Tomohiro’s grip on my thoughts, and take another deep breath. Determination fills me once again as I stand at a table with my plate. If I keep thinking about him I won’t be able to taste anything I picked out for myself.

I start with the avocado salad. It’s good! Refreshing, even. With another bite I begin my guessing game of What’s In It? Alongside the avocado I can taste crushed black pepper and a hint of lemon. It truly is delicious. Absently, I make note to try making it at home. Who knows? Tomohiro might even like it. I’ve moved on to tasting the roast beef when I happen to hear one of the Paradiso guys, the director, Shun Randoh, speaking with the actress I saw him with earlier.

“Should you be eating that salad?” he asks, “Aren’t you allergic to lemon? Be careful, you broke out into a rash last time. And it was the day before a photo shoot, too. That was a mess.”

“Relax!” the actress says with a laugh. “There’s no lemon in here.”

I turn and see her lifting a fork to go to town on the salad. Of course, I can’t stay silent! Who knows how bad of a reaction she could have if she’s allergic.

“Uh, w-wait!” I blurt, catching the attention of both Mr. Randoh and the actress.

With eyebrows raised, Randoh asks, “Something wrong?”

“Well, it’s just that I’m pretty sure there is lemon in the salad,” I tell them. “And, I mean, even if it’s just a little bit, it’d be better to be safe than sorry, right? Probably shouldn’t eat the salad if you’re allergic to lemon.”

Randoh nods just barely and turns to a member of the staff. “Hey, you! Could you check with the chef about the salad?”

The server stops and takes a moment to think. “Oh, yes. This guest is correct,” he says, “I believe the chef used a hint of lemon as a secret ingredient.”

I want to sigh but I hold it back. A chef should never hide what ingredients they’ve used, especially with how many people have allergies and dietary restrictions nowadays.

The actress and Randoh turn to me with surprised looks.

“Oh, my gosh!” the actress exclaims while putting her fork down and pushing the salad away. “Thank you so much! You’re a life saver!”

This time I do sigh, but it’s a sound of relief, nearly a laugh actually. “It’s no problem, don’t mention it. I’m just glad you’re going to be fine,” I tell her.

I nearly miss it as I turn back to my plate, but I hear Randoh mutter, “What are you?”

Surprised and a little affronted by the word choice I turn back around to the director with eyebrows raised and head tilted. “Pardon?” I ask, trying not to clench my teeth. What am I? Like I’m some sort of animal?

Randoh smiles and continues, “Do you do this kind of thing professionally? Do you have a certification or something?”

He still looks puzzled, but also intrigued. I’m not sure what to make of that.

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that. I’m not, like, a food critic or anything. I’m just a housewife,” I answer. With a self-conscious shrug of my shoulders I continue, “I like to cook, and I like to figure out recipes when I go out to eat.”

“She’s amazing,” I hear a man breathe out in awe. Surprised, I look away from Randoh to find that the other Paradiso guys have gathered here without my noticing. The one who spoke was Yosuke Sagara, the investor, and the one who gave me the invitation.

“I could use someone like her,” Kiyohito Shirakami, the very handsome man in a black hat puts in his ten yen. I think Ryoko said that he’s a model. And I can see why.

Taki Kozaki, the man for whom this party is being held, is silent but intent. He is, frankly, intimidating.

Randoh leans closer toward me, saying “Hey, do you—“

“Happy birthday, Mr. Kozaki.”

My heart seizes up and it feels like I’ve been dowsed in ice at that voice. I turn to look, and there stands my husband. He doesn’t seem to have noticed me yet. He continues to address Mr. Kozaki, saying, “Thank you so much for inviting me this evening.”

For a moment – just one or two seconds – I think to myself, Oh, so this was his work thing. But then I see the woman holding onto Tomohiro’s arm and she opens her mouth to say, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Kozaki. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.”

I can feel my heart beating faster and harder. It pounds in my chest and in my ears. I feel my face go cold and pale, and my hands begin to go slack.

The woman on my husband’s arm is smiling at Mr. Kozaki as she continues, “We just got back from the hot spring resort you recommended.”

“It was very relaxing. We had a wonderful time. Thank you,” Tomohiro says.

Jesus fucking H. Christ.

“It was nothing,” Taki Kozaki says, straight-faced and calm as if my world isn’t crashing into little pieces around me, “Feel free to use the place anytime.”

I want to scream.

“Thank you,” Tomohiro replies with a slight bow, “My girlfriend and I would love to go again when we get the chance.”

I want to scream.

I almost do, right then, but god, it’s not my party and this isn’t the time or place. The bastard really has been cheating on me. I know I thought I wouldn’t be surprised if he was, but it still hurts so much it’s suffocating. It’s about then that Tomohiro finally notices me and his eyes go wide. I hope he can see the fire in mine. I am devastated and furious.

Bastard! I want to scream. How dare you?!

But then he forces his face to relax and he turns back to Kozaki, who, apparently doesn’t miss a thing. Kozaki hesitates for maybe half a second, then asks, “Do you know this woman?”

And then he says it.

Tomohiro answers, “No, I can’t say I’ve made her acquaintance.”

Like five years together didn’t happen. Like I’ve shifted dimensions into the one where we never met, never dated, never married! Like I don’t matter at all to him.

I feel hollowed out, like someone’s scraped away my insides like I’m a fucking gourd.

“Well then,” Tomohiro says, “If you’ll excuse us.”

The wine glass I’d picked up earlier slips from my unresponsive hands and crashes to the ground. The wine spills down the front of my dress and splatters all over my shoes. And Tomohiro and his girlfriend – his mistress – are already gone.

“Are you alright?” Randoh asks, coming closer out of concern I suppose. “That looks like it might stain if you leave it.”

I can’t breathe I’m so- so mixed up! I’m mad and heartbroken and now I have wine on my shoes and on my nicest dress! And the Paradiso guys are all staring at me.

“I’m fine,” I say. Except my voice is shaking and so are my hands now and I can feel tears building up. I’m damn near breathless. My chest feels like it’s trying to collapse inward.

Randoh looks back the way my gaze is stuck, in the direction Tomohiro and his mistress left.

He clicks his tongue. “Ah, I see. So that’s what this is about.” His eyes flick down to my wedding ring, then back up.

“What? What do you mean?” Sagara pipes in. I’d nearly forgotten he was even here.

Randoh gestures with his chin to where Tomohiro has gone and replies, “That’s her husband.”

“Hmph. Pity,” Kiyohito huffs tonelessly.

People are starting to whisper.

Taki Kozaki takes me by the arm – I didn’t even notice him coming up beside me – and says, “Come with me.”

I let him lead me, trying to ignore the eyes on me as I’m whisked away without an explanation. He takes me to a fancy room out of the way. It looks like a dressing room, with the mirror and large vanity desk. I glance up at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, if only to try to think about something other than my “workaholic”, cheating, asshole, did-show husband. Who puts a chandelier in a dressing room? Why’s everything here gotta be so fancy?

This place is more than just worlds apart from my way of living. Galaxies, or entire universes, or, or realities apart more like! Absolutely and utterly disparate.

“Take off your clothes.”

The words catch me off guard, and the proximity of the man who said them does too. What the fuck? I don’t say. Instead I give Kozaki a disgusted look and say, “Excuse you?”

I take a step back from him as he returns my look with one of derision.

“Just listen and do as I say,” Kozaki tells me.

Oh, no, absolutely fucking not. Defiant and angry (I feel more in control like this, rather than the spiraling despair and heartbreak) I tell Kozaki, “Ask me nicely. Go ahead. Try again.”

Kozaki already looks intense, but now he looks irritated. But before he can say anything that handsome model, Kiyohito, comes into the room carrying a gorgeous dress in his arms.

Kiyohito spots me and says, “Here, change into this.”

It takes a moment to realize that this is what Kozaki had meant. He wanted me to get out of my wine-stained dress so that I could change into something else. Why didn’t he say so? Stupid rich idiot. Whatever. I decide then and there to ignore Kozaki as I kick off my shoes and carefully take the dress from Kiyohito. I’m careful to keep it away from the dress I’m still wearing.

“Are you sure?” I ask, looking up at the model who just offered me a dress.

He glances to Kozaki for less than a second then nods his head toward a door further into the room. “You can change in there. Hurry.”

Deep breath, Tsushina. “Thank you,” I offer quietly.

Through the door is a large bathroom. Thank god! I put the dress on the counter and strip out of my damp, wine-smelling dress. There’s also a mirror in here, above the sink and counter. Well, at least the wine didn’t get through to my underthings, mostly. I sigh heavily. My skin is a little sticky though. So I dampen a towel and clean up before getting a better look at the dress I was handed. I even wash my face with cold water. The gown is a lovely almost plum color, with fitted bodice, sweetheart neckline, a full ankle-length tulle skirt, and lovely silver embroidery.

There has to be a tag somewhere, so I check for one, hoping to find the size. But there isn’t a tag. Not even a washing instructions tag. Hopefully it fits. I take another deep breath and put the dress on.

It’s a perfect fit. And I am deeply surprised. How did Kiyohito guess my size so well? Even the bust fits comfortably snugly. Usually there’s some part of a dress that doesn’t quite fit right and I have to take it in a little. But this dress… it feels like it was made for me. Feels like I’ve met my fairy god-model and he magicked me a Disney princess dress.

I leave the bathroom feeling sheepish and a little worn out. “I’ve changed,” I announce quietly, stepping back into the room with Kozaki and Kiyohito.

Kiyohito looks me up and down and nods his head. I don’t bother to pay attention to what Kozaki does. I’m still ignoring him. Kiyohito pats the backrest of the chair at the vanity he’s leaning against. “Come sit here,” he says.

I’ve calmed down but I’m still unsure what’s going on, really. But at least Kiyohito’s tone isn’t the same as Kozaki’s. I take a seat in front of the vanity and Kiyohito moves to stand behind me. Then he begins to sweep my hair back into an elegant updo. He has long, beautiful fingers, and he treats my hair with a gentleness I wasn’t expecting. It’s like he’s handling something precious. Tingles race over my scalp and my stomach does a little flip.

I feel like crying.

This, this is what I’ve been craving. Just gentle physical contact.

“Close your eyes,” Kiyohito says once he’s finished with my hair.

“Pardon?”

“Now.”

I’m a little wary, but… he did just do my hair, and surely someone who would handle hair so gently would continue to be gentle with the rest of whatever it is he’s doing? I don’t appreciate how curt he’s being, but I close my eyes. And soon I feel the feathery touch of makeup brushes on my cheeks and eyelids. And when he needs to readjust my face his touch is incredibly gentle, like he’s handling something terribly fragile.

It makes my heart clench in my chest.

“Open your eyes,” he tells me.

I do. When I see my reflection in the mirror I can’t help but gasp and stare. I look transformed. Beautiful. Who knew a gown and some makeup could do this? Wow.

I need to catch my breath.

“I don’t think that turned out bad,” Kiyohito says.

It would be so easy to get mad at him for that but I’m still caught up in his good work. His great work. Amazing, even. I don’t think I even looked half this beautiful on my wedding day. This is about when Randoh and Sagara enter the room, the director holding a pair of sparkling heels, and the other a glittering necklace.

The two men pause at the sight of me, Sagara breathing out, “Wow.”

Randoh recovers himself, though his eyes remain riveted on me. He approaches with the shoes and kneels before me. Looking up into my eyes he says, “You look… tantalizing.”

It’s hard to maintain eye contact with Randoh, and his sincerity hits me in a way that makes my eyes sting again and my cheeks flush, so I look away. “Thanks,” I mumble.

Then Randoh gently slides the heels, plum colored and sparkling with silver and (god, I hope those aren’t real!) diamonds, onto my feet one by one. He smiles to himself, saying, “Perfect fit.” Then he meets my eyes again, and tells me, “These will help you walk tall and hold your head high.”

While Randoh is doing that Sagara must have handed off the necklace, because someone else fastens it around my neck from behind. I only catch a glimpse of masculine hands from my periphery after the necklace descends before my eyes then settles high on my chest.

The next thing I know, Randoh is standing and then stepping aside, and Sagara has taken his place to stand before me, offering me his hand. “All right, Cinderella, it’s time to go back out there,” he tells me. His voice is warm and gentle and smooth and tender.

I must be under a spell, because I take his hand and let him help me up. This man — these men — that I barely know, I let him help me. I’m surrounded by four men that I’ve only learned the names of at this very party and they’ve been so kind to me from the moment I met them outside the building that day, far kinder than my own husband; my husband who swore before our families and friends that he would love and cherish me; my husband who has been cheating on me for who knows how long?

The spell breaks then and all I can feel is fury boiling in my chest.

My spine straightens, I raise my chin and set my shoulders, and my face settles into a look a neutrality.

Sagara lets go of my hand and I hear one of the other Paradiso men let out an impressed whistle to look at me.

“That’s a good look,” Shun Randoh says with a chuckle. He shakes his head and adds, “I pity any man who gets in her way.”

As I begin to stride away, Yosuke Sagara following immediately, I catch Kozaki saying to no one in particular, “Her husband has no idea the true extent of what he’s about to lose today.”

For a moment I wonder if Kozaki can read minds, but then I realize that he must do business with Tomohiro. For the next second after I have that thought Kozaki’s words sound like a promise — like he’d be willing to cut off all business dealings with my husband because of this. For one wild moment I believe it. But then why would it matter to Taki Kozaki? Who am I to him but some jilted housewife who spilled wine on her dress?

Why are these men doing this?

I actually shake my head to clear it of those thoughts. All that I want to focus on right now is what I’m going to do once I’m back out there, what I’m going to say to my husband, and what drink would leave the best stain.

When I enter the room the Paradiso men are right there with me, flanking and following me, like some kind of four-man glam squad. It’s... a little empowering. The crowds’ eyes are on me and I can hear them talking about me, calling me beautiful, expressing jealousy, and even one man telling another that he would want to ask me out if I weren’t already hanging out with the Paradiso guys.

After taking note of where my husband and his girlfriend are, I head straight for the open bar. There are waiters serving wine and champagne, but true to rich people form, there are also at least a million other options at the bar.

The men disperse, though Sagara follows me, asking casually, “So, what’s the plan, Cinderella?”

“Tsushina,” I tell him distractedly. “My name is Tsushina Fuyuki. And what makes you think I have a plan?” The bartender approaches to take my order. “A Mai Tai, please,” I say with a smile.

Sagara shrugs. “Just a hunch, really. So, plan?”

“I’m gonna drink some of my cocktail, and if the rest happens to, uh, wind up on my husband’s pristine white shirt, well then — oops! Clumsy lil me, I’ve already spilled one drink tonight.” The bartender slides my drink to me and I take a sip while glancing over to Sagara. “And I think I’ll be asking for a long overdue divorce.”

I wonder if maybe I’m being too candid with him, but he nods seriously.

“He’d deserve it,” Sagara says. Then his eyes light up. “Hey, do you have your phone on you?”

I eye him with suspicion. He better not be asking me for my number right now. Otherwise I may have to order another drink. “…Yes. Why?”

“You’ve got a recording app on it, right?” he asks. At my nod, he asks, “Can I see it?”

I give him a deadpan look, subtly shaking my head. “No.”

Sagara puts up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right, that’s fair.” Then he leans closer just slightly. “Listen, Tsushina, I like your plan. I just think it could use a little more — hm, what’s a good word — subtlety? That works for now.”

“Subtlety?” I repeat.

Sagara snaps his fingers. “Subterfuge! That’s the word I wanted,” he says triumphantly. “Okay, so — just a suggestion — but before you go over there and give him a piece of your mind, turn on your recording app, put your phone back in your purse, and get him to confess that he’s been cheating on you. Then tell him you want a divorce. How’s that for a plan?”

I take a larger sip of my drink. Then I tell Sagara, “Not sure how that benefits me? I don’t really want the reminder…” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable.

“Okay, I get that, but bigger picture: if he tries to dodge paying alimony you will have a confession from the man himself. His own word against him.”

It takes me a moment for that to really sink in. “Oh! Yeah! Right. Good plan. All I’d have is my own savings, so… good plan.” I take another sip. “I don’t want to rely on his money, though.”

Sagara shrugs. “Do whatever you want with his money, then,” he says. “Donate it or something. The point is that he faces consequences, and that you get justice.”

I think on that, letting it sink in. “Yeah,” I say, giving a nod, “Yeah, you’re right! The bastard has it coming.”

So I do as Yosuke Sagara suggested, and soon enough I have my phone recording in my purse and I am marching over to my husband on the balcony, the rest of my drink still in hand. The alcohol has bolstered my courage, and it makes me feel… reckless. Just a little. I can feel myself start to tremble before I even reach Tomohiro and the other woman, though. But I don’t let that stop me.

**Author's Note:**

> i tried to write more, and i had thoughts about how i wanted the argument and end of the party to go but..... here seemed a good place to end it, really


End file.
